This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
“Do you want to have a cigarette with me?” I asked the short, platinum blonde girl with dark eyes who stood lucidly next to me. / “Sure.” / In the kitchen, she asked me, “How is it here?”. / I don’t know. I haven’t been seated since I got here, so I have no idea. “Can you give me a ride home?”/ “you didn’t drive?” / “I have a DUI. Don’t let anyone hear that. I just… yea, i’m just a drunk.” / She’s goi
Pain is information. We feel pain, because we are experiencing the influx of information that comes with our lives. Pain is the understanding that we are alone in our existance. Pain is the perception that we are alone. It is even more painful, then, when we realize we are not alone at all; that there is a diaspora of other pain sufferers, who look out for us unexpectedly. It is the pain of gratitude that endears us to the unexpected kindness of people we don’t know. Understanding is pain. / We’re in a recession. So many friends my age, myself, and those older than us have lost their jobs, their livelihoods. And there is new pain. / I’d stumbled out of bed again at 4 in the afternoon and the sun had settled into an exhausted golden brown froth over the hillside. I’d spent the previous 6 months, trying, and failing to get another IT job. There’s a great song whose lyrics go something like, “today, we escape, we escape.” I think it’s radiohead. So I packed my bag and left for home. And later, I took 10 sleeping pills and began to worry about the drowsiness coming over me, the pain of not being able to not quite stay awake. Soon after, it was the pain of trying to throw them all up. / Then, I went back to sleep for another 10 hours and I felt no pain.
I should retitle this…. “Overweight Photographers Modelizing Models, And the Models who are tacitly OK with this, but not really”
Fuck it. I’m going all out on this shit, grammar errors and all. I’ll even put it in bullet points.
Let’s just rip off that Band-Aid.
Max Hambleton
It’s best to be direct.
Following a breakup, big girl panties were successfully applied, and a tarnished pair of brass balls were polished to their original splendor, albeit with some patina.
Parking outside of the bar on a rainy Monday night, it was no wonder that the bar was nearly empty. She was alone, sharply dressed, without makeup. Naturally occurring charisma combined with a small amount of alcohol produces interpersonal magic.
Locking eyes is a curious thing. We use our eyes to scan, continuously, hundreds of times per minute to pick up the most minute details of our environment. Our brains process that absolutely incredible amount of information, and after just nanoseconds, our brains tell our bodies to do things. Sometimes we dodge. Other times, we lock eyes with someone, and our brain and loins decide to go for it before we can fully spit out the words to make it happen.
“Let’s go digital.”
Numbers were exchanged and within days two modelizing models were busy making the world a much more beautiful place.
luv u all. :*
only not really
bye
“For a dollar, a smile, or just the change in your pocket, I’ll sanitize the hands. I’m the Hand Sanitizer Man.”
He’s not a public sanitation worker. He’s missing a few teeth in the Metro Red Line. He’s the Hand Sanitizer Man.
I can’t help but smile. Because that’s all I have to give to him. And for him, that enough. For a moment, I’m grateful for a moment in the day where what I have to give is enough — more than enough — to give to someone.
Even though it breaks my heart, it makes me smile more than anything.
I don’t ask him for a squirt of generic hand sanitizer. I don’t talk to him. I look up, and smile.
the roost, in
You know you’ve arrived as President of the Unitede States of America when your campaign silhouette begins appearing on LSD blotter papers.
